THE-LITTLE-BRPWN-HEN-HEAR5 
THE-S°NG-orTHE-NIGHTINGALI 


Jasmine  Stone  Fan  Dresser 


EXJJBKB  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


JOHN  HENRY  MSH  LIBRARY 

SAN  FRANCISCO  <8> 

PRESENTED  TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

ROBERT  GORDON  SPROUL,  PRESIDENT. 


MR.ANDMRS.MILTON  S.RAY 
CECILY,  VIRGINIAANDROSALYN  RAY 


RAY  OIL  BURNER  COMPANY 


I  1 


The  Little  Brown  Hen 
Hears  the  Song  of  the 
Nightingale  £S2^P^© 
The  Golden  Harvest 


By  Jasmine  Stone  Van  Dresser 
Author  of  "How  to  Find  Happyland" 
With  an  Introduction  by  Margaret  Beecher  White 
The  Illustrations  by  William  T.  Van  Dresser 


Paul  Elder  and  Company 

San  Francisco  and  New  York 


Copyright,  1908 
by  Paul  Elder  and  Company 


TO 
WILLIAM  T.  VAN  DRESSER 

BUT  FOR  WHOM  THE  STORIES 

WOULD  NEVER  HAVE  BEEN  WRITTEN 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  LOVINGLY 

DEDICATED  BY  THE 

AUTHOR 


FOREWORD. 

It  is  the  duty  of  all  good,  useful  stories 
to  give  a  message  to  their  readers.  The 
two  dainty  stories  contained  in  this  little 
volume  each  carries  its  message  of  truth. 
Pure,  simple  and  wholesome  in  quality, 
they  cannot  fail  to  refresh  as  well  as  in- 
struct those  who  receive  them. 

In  the  Golden  Harvest  the  lesson  of 
patience  taught  by  the  little  apple  tree's 
experience  will  bear  rich  fruit  I  do  not 
doubt,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  little  brown 
hen  cannot  help  but  teach  us  all  to  listen 
for  the  nightingale's  song  of  harmony  in 
our  own  lives. 

MARGARET  BEECHER  WHITE. 


The  Little 

Brown  Hen  Hears  the  Song 
of  the  Nightingale 


-  5 

A 

r  ~  " 


The  Little  Brown  Hen  <*  3 

ADOMPOUS  old  gander  who  lived 
in  a  barn-yard  thought  himself 
wiser  than  the  rest  of  the  crea- 
tures, and  so  decided  to  instruct  them. 

He  called  together  all  the  fowls  in 
the  barn-yard,  and  the  pigeons  off  the 
barn-roof,  and  told  them  to  listen  to 
him. 

They  gathered  around  and  listened 
very  earnestly,  for  they  thought  they 
would  learn  a  great  deal  of  wisdom. 

"  The  first  thing  for  you  to  learn,"  said 
the  gander,  "is  to  speak  my  language. 
It  is  very  silly  for  you  to  chatter  as  you 
do.  Now  we  will  all  say, '  honk ! '  one, 
two,  three,— 'honk!" 

The  creatures  all  tried  very  hard  to 
say  "  honk ! "  but  the  sounds  they  made 
were  so  remarkable  that  I  cannot  write 
them,  and  none  of  them  sounded  like 
"honk!" 

The  gander  was  very  angry. 


4  -  The  Little  Brown  Hen 


"How   stupid  you   are!"  he  cried. 
"Now  you  all  must  practise  till  you 
learn 
cluck 
when 


Do  not  let  me  hear  a  peep  or 


a  coo!   You  must  all  'honk' 
i  have  anything  to  say." 

So  they  obediently  tried  to  do  as  he 
said. 

When  the  little  brown  hen  laid  an 
egg,  instead  of  making  the  fact  known 
with  her  sharp  little  "  cut  —  cut — cut  - 
cut-ah-cut!"  as  a  well-ordered  hen 
should  do,  she  ran  around  the  barn- 
yard trying  to  say,  "  honk !  honk ! " 

But  nobody  heard  her,  and  nobody 
came  to  look  for  the  egg. 

The  guinea-fowls  way  down  in  the 
pasture  ceased  calling  "la  croik!  la 
croik! "  and  there  was  no  way  of  find- 
ing where  they  had  hid  their  nests.  In 
the  afternoon,  when  their  shrill  cries 
should  have  warned  the  farmers  that 
it  was  going  to  rain,  they  were  still 


The  Little  Brown  Hen  -  5 

honking,  or  trying  to,  so  the  nicely  dried 
hay  got  wet. 

Next  morning  chanticleer,  instead  of 
rousing  the  place  with  his  lusty  crow, 
made  an  effort  at  honking  that  could 
not  be  heard  a  stone's  throw  away,  and 
so  the  whole  farm  overslept. 

All  day  there  was  a  Babel  of  sounds 
in  the  barn-yard.  The  turkeys  left  off 
gobbling  and  made  a  queer  sound  that 
they  thought  was  "honk!"  the  ducks 
left  off  quacking,  the  chicks  left  off 
peeping,  and  said  nothing  at  all,  for 
"  honk ! "  was  too  big  a  mouthful  for 
them ;  and  the  soft  billing  and  cooing  of 
the  doves  were  turned  into  an  ugly 
harsh  sound. 

Things  were  indeed  getting  into  a 
dreadful  state,  and  they  grew  worse, 
instead  of  better. 

The  hens  forgot  to  lay  eggs,  the 
doves  became  proud  and  pompous  like 


6  -  The  Little  Brown  Hen 

the  gander,  and  as  for  the  turkey  gob- 
blers, they  kept  the  place  in  an  uproar, 
for  they  thought  they  could  really  honk ! 
and  they  never  ceased  from  morning 
till  night. 

There's  no  telling  what  it  all  would 
have  come  to  if  there  hadn't  been  one 
in  the  barn-yard,  with  an  ear  that  could 
hear  something  besides  the  dreadful  dis- 
cords. 

One  night  the  little  brown  hen  was 
roosting  alone  in  the  top  of  the  hen- 
house. All  at  once  she  was  awakened  by 
the  sweetest  song  she  had  ever  heard. 

She  called  to  her  chicks  and  to  some 
of  her  companions  to  wake  up  and 
listen;  but  they  were  sleepy  and  soon 
dozed  off  again,  so  the  little  brown  hen 
was  left  listening  alone. 

"I  will  ask  the  gander  what  this 
beautiful  song  means,"  she  said.  "  He 
knows  everything." 


The  Little  Brown  Hen  -  7 

So  she  awoke  the  gander  and  asked 
him  who  was  singing  the  beautiful  song, 
and  what  it  meant. 

The  gander  said  gruffly:  "It  is  the 
nightingale.  I  do  not  know  what  her 
song  means.  She  should  learn  to  honk ! " 
And  he  tucked  his  head  back  under  his 
wing. 

"  Ah  !"  thought  the  little  brown  hen, 
"  if  learning  the  gander's  language  does 
not  help  me  to  understand  this  beauti- 
ful song,  I  do  not  think  it  is  worth 
bothering  with.  I  shall  never  try  to  say 
'honk! 'again." 

So  she  went  back  to  her  roost  and 
listened  till  the  nightingale's  song 
ceased.  Then  she  tucked  her  head  un- 
der her  little  brown  wing  and  went  to 
sleep,  her  little  heart  singing  within 
her. 

At  daylight  she  awoke,  and  hopping 
down  sought  her  companions,  eager  to 


8  -  The  Little  Brown  Hen 

tell  them  the  wonderful  thing  that  was 
singing  in  her  heart. 

"This  is  a  beautiful,  simple  world," 
she  cried, "  and  I  have  learned  a  very 
wonderful  thing ! " 

But  to  her  surprise,  the  creatures 
had  no  desire  to  hear  what  it  was,  for 
they  were  all  in  a  flurry  getting  ready 
for  their  next  lesson  in  honking. 

"  Indeed,  you  need  not  bother  about 
honking,"  cried  the  little  brown  hen, 
but  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  her. 

So  she  called  her  chicks  about  her, 
and  went  her  way,  clucking  merrily, 
while  they  picked  up  bugs,  and  dared 
to  peep  once  more  when  they  found  a 
nice  fat  worm. 

Meanwhile  the  class  in  honking 
made  very  little  headway,  for  no  sooner 
were  they  settled  than  they  began  to 
wish  they  knew  what  wonderful  thing 
the  little  brown  hen  had  to  tell. 


m 

mSm^ 

^^^^•" 


The  Little  Brown  Hen  - 1 1 

They  craned  their  necks  to  watch 
her,  and  were  filled  with  envy,  seeing 
that  she  and  her  chicks  feasted  bounti- 
fully, with  very  little  scratching,  where- 
as they  scratched  in  the  barn-yard  all 
day,  and  found  only  enough  bugs  to 
quarrel  over. 

"  Indeed ! "  said  one  old  rooster,  "  we 
have  learned  nothing  about  the  best 
way  of  scratching  for  bugs,  with  all 
our  gabbling." 

"I  should  be  glad,"  spoke  up  a  duck, 
"  to  learn  the  wonderful  thing  that  the 
little  hen  has  learned,  so  /  could  keep 
from  quarreling  with  my  neighbors." 

They  all  grew  quite  uneasy,  and  the 
gander  became  very  angry. 

"Such  a  stupid  lot  I  have  never 
seen ! "  he  cried.  "  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  let  you  go  your  ways  and  not  bother 
with  you!"  and  thereat  he  dismissed 
the  class  in  high  dudgeon. 


1 2  -  The  Little  Brown  Hen 

The  first  thing  they  all  did  was  to 
take  after  the  little  brown  hen. 

"What  is  the  wonderful  thing  you 
have  learned?"  asked  the  gobblers, 
shaking  their  red  throats  and  looking 
very  important. 

"Oh!"  said  the  wise  little  hen,  "I 
learned  it  by  listening  to  the  nightingale, 
and  so  can  you,  I  presume,  if  you  leave 
off  that  silly  honking.  Just  gobble  as 
nicely  as  you  can  when  you  have  any- 
thing to  say,  but  first  be  sure  it  is  worth 
saying." 

The  turkeys  wished  the  little  brown 
hen  would  tell  them  and  save  them  the 
trouble  of  listening,  but  as  they  had 
paid  no  attention  when  she  offered, 
they  had  nothing  to  do  but  follow  her 
advice. 

So  they  stopped  honking  and  did 
very  little  gobbling,  for  they  found  that 
they  had  not  much  of  importance  to  say. 


The  Little  Brown  Hen  - 1 3 

The  ducks  and  the  chickens  and  the 
doves  all  asked  the  same  question,  and 
the  little  brown  hen  gave  them  much 
the  same  answer : 

"Just  quack  and  coo  and  cluck  as 
nicely  as  you  can,  and  have  a  care  to 
lay  nice  eggs.  Attend  very  strictly  to 
your  own  affairs,  for  I  have  found  that 
one  learns  a  great  deal  by  listening." 

As  they  all  took  her  advice,  the  barn- 
yard became  a  quiet,  well-ordered  barn- 
yard again,  with  only  so  much  cackling 
and  clucking,  and  so  forth,  as  to  give  it 
a  business-like  air. 

For  each  one  was  listening  to  hear 
when  the  nightingale  came,  and  first 
thing  they  knew  each  one  heard  the 
same  song  as  the  little  brown  hen,  for  it 
was  singing  in  all  their  hearts,  and  they 
understood  it,  whether  they  quacked  or 
gobbled  or  cooed. 

"It  does  seem  that  there's  a  deal  of 


1 4  -  The  Little  Brown  Hen 

talking  these  days,"  said  the  little  brown 
hen, "  and  it 's  mighty  hard  to  listen ;  but 
even  if  the  old  gander  does  honk  every 
now  and  then,  nobody  need  pay  any 
attention  to  him,  for,  after  all,  it  isn't  al- 
ways those  with  the  loudest  voices  that 
have  the  best  things  to  say." 


The  Little 

Apple  Tree  Bears  a  Golden 
Harvest 


, 

J«OJB     •:-.    *  alE^* 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  17 

IN  A  thriving  apple  orchard  full  of 
trees  richly  laden  with  fruit,  stood 
one  hardy  little  tree  whose  apples 
remained  small  and  green  and  hard. 

The  little  tree  wondered  why  her 
fruit  was  so  small,  when  that  on  the 
other  trees  grew  so  large  and  fine. 

"But  perhaps  as  these  are  my  first 
apples  they  are  slow  in  ripening,"  she 
thought.  "I  must  be  patient  and  be- 
fore long  the  beautiful  color  will  begin 
to  appear," 

So  day  after  day  she  watched  for 
some  signs  of  color  on  the  cheeks  of 
the  hard  little  apples,  and  time  seemed 
to  drag  more  and  more  slowly. 

But  life  in  an  apple  orchard  is  not 
altogether  uneventful,  and  the  little  tree 
became  interested  in  finding  she  could 
take  part  in  what  was  going  on  about 
her. 

One  day  there  was  a  curious  squawk 


18  -  The  Golden  Harvest 


in  among  her  branches,  and  soon  two 
robins,  each  with  a  worm  in  his  mouth, 
came  flying  in  through  the  thick-leaved 
boughs,  to  their  nest  in  a  crotch  of  the 
tree. 

"  Our  birdies  are  hatched ! "  they  cried, 
rilling  the  gaping  mouths.  "The  little 
tree  sheltered  our  eggs  from  storm  and 
sun,  and  hid  them  so  carefully  that  no 
one  could  find  them.  We  are  safer  in 
this  tree  than  in  any  tree  in  the 
orchard." 

The  little  tree  was  filled  with  joy  at 
finding  that,  after  all,  there  was  some- 
thing she  could  do  to  be  of  use. 

"  I  have  watched  the  little  blue  eggs 
ever  since  you  left  them  here,"  she  said ; 
and  she  seemed  to  snuggle  her  branches 
more  closely  about  the  nest. 
•  At  last  the  little  robins  grew  strong 
enough  to  fly,  and  the  nest  was  left 
empty,  though  the  young  birds  stayed 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  19 

in  the  orchard  and  often  came  to  perch 
in  the  tree,  and  sing  their  song  of  grati- 
tude. 

Indeed  all  the  creatures  about  seemed 
to  know  that  here  was  loving  shelter  for 
them.  A  little  chipmunk  made  its  home 
under  the  rock  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
and  frisked  up  the  trunk  and  among 
the  boughs.  Many  birds  perched  in  the 
branches  and  told  wonderful  song  stories 
of  what  was  going  on  in  the  world. 

A  merry  little  flycatcher  chose  a 
small  twig  under  one  of  the  boughs  of 
the  apple  tree,  where  it  perched  for 
hours,  darting  out  when  a  fly  or  other 
insect  buzzed  by ;  but  always  returning 
to  the  little  twig  as  if  it  were  home. 
In  the  shade  of  the  thick-leaved  boughs, 
the  friendly  cows  sought  shelter,  pa- 
tiently chewing  their  cud,  and  switching 
their  tails  to  shoo  off  the  flies. 

And  so  the  earnest  little  tree  did  all 


20  -  The  Golden  Harvest 


she  could  to  be  of  use,  and  was  more 
beloved,  though  she  did  not  know  it, 
than  any  tree  in  the  orchard.  Yet  she 
could  not  but  think  sadly  of  her  little 
green  apples,  that  seemed  to  show  no 
signs  of  ripening. 

Many  long  summer  days  passed. 
The  early  harvest  apples  in  their  full 
prime  were  picked  and  barreled. 

Each  day  the  golden  pippins  grew 
more  juicy  and  golden;  the  big  jolly 
Ben  Davis,  wine-saps,  northern  spies, 
bellflowers  and  many  others  ripening 
in  their  turn,  filled  the  orchard  with  a 
delightful  odor  and  glow  of  color;  but 
the  fruit  on  the  one  tree  seemed  as  hard 
and  backward  as  ever. 

The  trees  with. the  beautiful  fruit 
laughed  and  whispered  among  them- 
selves, and  the  little  tree  was  very 
unhappy,  for  she  thought  they  were 
laughing  at  her. 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  21 

"  Surely  my  fruit  must  begin  to  ripen 
soon,"  she  thought. 

But  at  night  when  the  rest  of  the 
orchard  was  asleep,  she  wept  silently 
to  herself,  for  she  wondered  if  it  could 
be  possible  that  her  apples  would  not 
ripen  at  all. 

At  last  summer  seemed  to  hold  her 
breath.  Day  after  day  the  warm  sun- 
shine beat  down  upon  the  orchard, 
drowsy  with  the  richness  and  fulness 
of  its  almost  completed  labor.  The 
trees  now  and  then  stirred  their  heavy 
branches,  as  if  suggesting  that  it  was 
time  to  be  relieved  of  their  burden. 

One  day  a  flock  of  merry  children 
came  to  the  orchard  to  play.  The  day 
was  cool,  a  gentle  breeze  stirred,— 
early  fall  had  blown  its  first  faint  breath. 

The  children  frolicked  all  day,  ate 
their  luncheon  on  the  grass,  shook  down 
ripe  apples,  and  with  the  lengthening 


22  ~  The  Golden  Harvest 

evening  shadows,  began  to  gather  up 
their  baskets,  happy  and  contented  and 
ready  to  go  home. 

A  cool  evening  breeze  sprang  up 
with  sudden  briskness. 

"Look  at  that  black  cloud! "  cried  a 
little  urchin. 

Suddenly  the  rain  began  to  come 
down  with  a  brisk  patter ;  the  children 
scampered  quickly  under  the  nearest 
tree;  the  dark  cloud  overspread  the 
whole  sky,  rain  pelted  down,  a  great 
wind  roared  through  the  orchard, 
bending  the  trees,  and  causing  their 
branches  to  wave  wildly  and  a  shower 
of  apples  to  fall. 

"  Oh,  where  shall  we  go  ?  "  cried  the 
children.  "The  apples  are  pelting  us, 
and  the  rain  drives  in  upon  us." 

"Yonder  under  the  little  tree  with 
green  apples,"  cried  one.  "See  how 
thickly  leaved  it  is,  and  how  low  the 


i-WAKM  -SUNSHINE  •  MAT  -DOWN 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  25 


boughs  bend;  we  shall  be  well  shel- 
tered there." 

Quickly  they  rushed  to  the  tree,  and 
how  gladly  she  gathered  them  in,  and 
kept  them  dry  under  her  loving  arms; 
and  not  one  of  her  apples  fell  off. 

Soon  the  shower  was  over,  and  the 
children  scampered  home,  saying : 

"It's  a  good  thing  we  were  near 
that  tree,  or  we  should  have  been  soak- 
ing wet.  There  isn't  another  one  like  it 
in  the  orchard." 

The  little  tree  heard  their  words  of 
gratitude,  and  wept  for  joy. 

The  next  day  was  bright  and  warm, 
and  pleasant  sunshiny  weather  followed. 
At  last  the  haze  of  Indian  summer  settled 
lovingly  over  the  country  and  the  or- 
chard rang  with  the  voices  of  men  and 
boys  carrying  baskets  and  ladders. 

"Too  bad  that  equinoctial  storm 
was  such  a  blusterer,"  said  one  of  the 


3 

26  -  The  Golden  Harvest 

men.  "  These  lazy  trees  have  dropped 
much  of  their  fruit,  and  it  lies  bruised 
on  the  ground." 

But  they  picked  barrel  after  barrel 
of  the  rich  harvest,  and  soon  the  little 
tree  was  left  alone  with  her  burden  of 
useless  fruit. 

Now  the  trees  seemed  prouder  than 
ever,  and  talked  boastfully  about  the 
fine  apple  harvest  they  had  furnished 
for  mankind. 

The  little  tree  sighed  softly  to  herself. 

"But  I  must  not  be  unhappy,"  she 
said, "  for  if  I  cannot  bear  beautiful  red 
and  golden  apples,  there  is  surely  some 
work  for  me  to  do,  and  I  shall  find  out 
what  it  is." 

And  now,  though  the  little  tree  had 
not  noticed  that  her  apples  had  grown, 
her  branches  were  bending  almost  to 
the  ground  with  their  weight.  She 
tried  to  shake  off  some  of  the  apples, 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  27 


for  it  seemed  to  add  to  her  disgrace  to 
bear  so  much  of  this  useless  fruit.  But 
she  could  no  more  shake  them  off  than 
could  the  wind  and  storm. 

The  clear  cool  fall  days  were  passing, 
growing  shorter  and  shorter.  The  little 
tree  was  very  lonely  now,  for  the  chip- 
munk was  snug  in  his  winter  home,  the 
birds  had  flown  south  and  the  cows 
now  looked  for  sun  instead  of  shade. 
The  other  trees,  having  finished  their 
work,  were  preparing  for  their  long  win- 
ter nap.  The  little  tree  way  down  in  the 
corner  of  the  orchard  seldom  saw  any 
one,  but  she  was  stout  of  heart,  and 
kept  on  saying : 

"  I  know  I  shall  find  some  way  to  be 
of  use." 

She  did  not  pay  much  attention  to 
her  apples,  for  she  had  long  ago  given 
up  hopes  of  their  becoming  red  and  ripe. 

Every  night  now  white  frost  tripped 


28  -  The  Golden  Harvest 


daintily  over  the  hardening  ground,  and 
at  sunup  disappeared;  the  days  were 
cool  and  bright ;  the  frosts  grew  heavier 
and  the  weather  colder. 

One  day  there  were  voices  in  the 
orchard, — men  and  boys  carrying  bas- 
kets and  ladders  were  coming ;  and  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  little  tree,  they 
stopped  under  her  boughs,  placed  the 
ladders  in  the  branches  and  climbed  up. 

"  Good  old  apples ! "  cried  one  of  the 
boys,  dropping  them  into  his  basket 
with  a  plump. 

"  A  fine  yield ! "  said  one  of  the  men. 
"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  more  beau- 
tiful than  this  rich  golden  brown  ?  " 

"  The  sweetest  apple  that  ever  grew ! ' ' 
said  another.  "  I  don't  feel  that  I  Ve  had 
an  apple  till  November  brings  these." 

"It's  a  wise  Providence  that  saves 
this  sweetest  morsel  for  the  last,"  de- 
clared a  third. 


;l 


The  Golden  Harvest  -  29 

The  little  tree  listened,  trembling 
with  happiness.  Could  it  be  true? 

She  gazed  at  the  fruit  on  her  heavy 
branches,  and  there,  like  drops  of  gold, 
tinged  with  the  sombre  violet  of  No- 
vember, hung  ball  after  ball  of  the 
luscious  sweetness. 

"  Oh !  "  she  murmured,  "  how  blest  I 
am  to  have  so  much  to  give,  when  all 
the  rest  of  nature  is  silent  and  sleep- 
ing. How  happy  I  shall  be,  and  how 
earnestly  I  will  try  to  bear  the  sweetest 
apples  ever  grown ! " 

At  last  the  apples  were  all  picked 
and  carried  to  the  great  bins  in  the 
cellar,  there  to  lie  mellowing  and  sweet- 
ening for  the  farmer's  use  during  the 
long  winter  months. 

And  the  little  russet  apple  tree  went 
to  sleep,  and  took  her  long  nap  with 
the  rest. 


-  EVENING 


